Wasted Time, Wasted Lives
by Viviane Latour
Summary: Following the traumas of the First World War, a group of young Americans united by their various connections to Squall escape to France. As their lives fall apart, they must choose between adapting or letting go. Chapter 2: Squall's unwilling conversation
1. Perdu

Standard Disclaimers: It's not mine. None of it. The bank owns me until I pay them back for my so-called education. And no, you can't have my French books or my chemistry books, I need them both. This fic has been reposted because Fanfiction.net somehow convinced itself that it could never be more than one chapter.

Literary notes: This fic is inspired (and _very_ heavily influenced) by Ernest Hemingway's _The Sun Also Rises_, so if you notice any similarities, that's why. It also draws a lesser degree of influence from F. Scott Fitzgerald's _The Great Gatsby_. (It is not, however, a re-write of either one.) Both of them are fantastic books (especially if you like seriously disfunctional characters) despite the fact that you're likely to read one or both of them in school. Oh yeah, and both of them are copyright by whoever it is that now owns the copyrights. I don't own anything here either.

Historical notes: I have to look this stuff up because I never paid attention in history class! If you find any errors, email me please! (vivianelatour@aol.com) I am taking a creative liberty with the presence of women in the military. As far as I know, it did not happen during WWI, but I'm writing it in for philosophical reasons -- namely because it was discrimination. If you want to know where I got some of this information from, besides picking my little sister's brain, again, email me.

French notes: Most of the French -- which will be not very much -- I use should be relevant to the story in some way. I will translate everything except chapter titles, which are probably only going to be a single word anyway. Again, if you find any errors, email me. I'm not even remotely fluent by _any_ stretch of the imagination, so I am going to make mistakes.

Other notes: **This is alternate universe.** I'm trying to keep as much as possible in spirit with the game, but I have made some changes, aside from the obvious ones in setting and character history. Some less important characters have been written out or left out, and a couple of minor romantic subtexts are completely absent. I also show some pairing biases (for once), not all of which are canon. No, I'm not telling what they are. Want a hint? Look at the rating information below. Also, thank you to the reviewers from the first time this was posted!

Review to your heart's content, but don't abuse the author.

This chapter is rated PG for repeated references to death and emotional trauma. No language, no violence, no perversion, non-yaoi, non-yuri. This chapter is basically just a character introduction; the real storyline will start in the next chapter.

No, I won't do this every chapter. Expect just a quick disclaimer and rating information on the next one.

  
  
Wasted Time, Wasted Lives  
by Viviane Latour  
  


Introduction: Perdu

  


They were lucky and luckless as they stumbled home from across a sea that was not so blue anymore to shores that were no longer so green, to a society that had left them behind. They returned home, and although the buildings were the same, the occupants were not. They tried to rebuild their fragmented lives only to discover that some pieces were missing and could never, ever be replaced.

* * *

He arrived home, sister in tow, just in time to bury their mother; shortly thereafter, consumption consumed his sister and he was forced to bury her as well. He figuratively buried his ever-absent father when he changed his name. He became sealed within himself so that not even his two nearest and oldest friends could reach him. A talk with one of them gave him direction; a letter to another friend and a quick note to a friend of his dead sister's and he was ready to depart.

She came home to an inheritance. She shed a few tears over her parents' demise, but not many. One did not need to see her take the tricolored flag off of her wall to know the land of her birth; the foreign melody of her voice revealed it quite well. "Coming or no," she told both her boyfriend and her best friend, "it is my home. I am going back." She saw her friend distance himself; not even her boyfriend's walk was the same. Had she changed as well?

He was broken. He would have been home earlier if it was not for that. He leaned on a cane, plagued by a permanent limp during the day and incessant nightmares by night. He heard them, his buddies, his partners-in-crime, give themselves up to the enemy night after terrible night. They had tormented younger students together, graduated together, enlisted together, and would have been captured together. He watched his best rival from childhood grow cold, but his girlfriend was still here, although they fought more now, screaming matches rather than petty squabbles, and the nightmares kept coming. He could go without sleep for three days.

The diamond ring weighed heavily upon her right ring finger but not her thoughts. They had been high school sweethearts, adored by everyone, the last of the adherents to a particular way of life. Their Southern aristocracies were slowly dying though they and their manors still remained. She had been a socialite before, and he had been a talented hunter. She stopped going to parties. He sold his guns. A letter from a relative of a now-dead friend of hers was all it took to convince them to abandon their old lives.

Small town life stifled him now. He had done so much, seen so much that he craved more! He needed people and noise, not the crickets at night and the cows during the day. A letter from a war acquaintance convinced him to pack his bags and promise his dear mother that he would come back one day to take her away with him. He turned in all the moonshiners before he left.

* * *

They were all lost.


	2. Une Fille

Standard Disclaimers: I don't own anything, not even the computer I'm typing on. I'm not worth suing, so don't bother.

Rating Information: Same as the previous chapter. For resources or if you find a mistake, email me. For any other information, see the previous chapter.

All done, and much shorter this time!

* * *

  
Wasted Time, Wasted Lives  
by Viviane Latour  
  
Chapter 1: Une Fille  
  
  


"Squall, would you please put that camera away?"

The man in question looked away from the unattractive black object at the bespectacled speaker, grunted, and continued about his business.

"Squall! I would say that you are the most frustrating person I have ever met, but then Seifer here would not exist."

"I'd call you the most irritating, but then, poof! No more Quistis."

"And you would never be able to get another girlfriend. Boo-hoo, poor Seifer." They glared at each other for a second, then burst out laughing.

"Honestly though, Squall, either you put that plaything away or I'll have to... Squall?"

By that time, Squall had already taken his suitcases into the hotel and left his two bickering childhood friends out on the rue.

* * *

The lobby of the hotel had probably been remodeled recently; Squall surveyed it with interest. Flawless white walls, blue curtains, plenty of indoor plants, a newly varnished reception desk, reflective wood floors -- he wanted to keep this scene on film for posterity as his first real glimpse of Paris indoors. He positioned himself and his luggage in a corner by the window, gently removed his camera from his coat pocket and began to shoot as his two companions, if he would be willing to call them that at the moment, entered rather loudly.

"...no, no! I will reserve the rooms! You will only make a mistake!"

"Well, we can't all have your genius intellect! I didn't have a problem with the boat tickets over here, did I? Or the train?"

"Luck! Nothing but luck! Both times! You will not get this one right, without a doubt!"

"Watch me!" He moved towards the desk; she cut him off. Squall instantly recognized the beginnings of a screaming match between the two and moved to the polished wood counter where he gingerly set down his camera and summoned the receptionist with a wave of his hand. He was not accustomed to speaking much at all, let alone projecting his voice to be heard over this kind of din, and he struggled to produce the necessary volume.

"Nous voudrions trois chambres à deux lits avec la pension complète." ("We would like three double rooms with three meals a day.") He looked behind him again to find a constantly escalating argument. "Moins des balcons." ("Without balconies.") The pretty young brunette behind the counter smiled at him and nodded as she handed him the guest book to sign and quoted his deposit to him. He looked away in awkward discomfort before throwing the money on the counter and holding out his hand, into which she promptly deposited the keys.

"You can't what?"

"Trust you! With anything! You always act stupid and cocky and cause problems!"

"And you've never caused a problem before?"

"Not half as many of them as you have!"

Squall, keys in hand, quickly strode over to break up the fight by pushing the combatants apart and to the floor, sending Quistis's glasses flying and causing Seifer to grimace and clutch the old injury on his leg. He shoved a key in Quistis's hand. "Room four." He shoved another in Seifer's. "Room six. Two floors up. Resolve it before I see either one of you again." He took his suitcases up the stairs.

* * *

She tapped on the door once before slowly pushing it open.

"Um, hello?" When her intended target turned his attention away from his suitcase and towards her, she continued. "You left your camera at the reservation desk. The blonde lady you were with said you'd probably be in this room with her 'idiot boyfriend'..." She met Seifer's glare. "Oops, sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I should have known she was referring to you, though you don't act like much of a couple---"

"My camera?" She handed it back to him -- and waited. "What?"

"Don't you owe me a 'thank you'?"

"Thank you," he grumbled.

"You're welcome! I'll see you at dinner tonight!" She smiled broadly and left.

"How did she know we spoke English?"

"Probably overheard your yelling."

"She's cute. If I didn't already have a girl of my own, I'd want to go on a date with her."

"Constant fighting does not constitute a relationship."

"And a heartbeat doesn't constitute a life. Shut up and unpack."


	3. Le Dîner Avec des Amis

Disclaimers: I own... my DVD player. And my PS2. Not FF8. Don't sue me, I can't afford it.

Miscellany: This chapter is a bit happier than the last one, but the next one is almost done and by far the most serious one yet, so it all balances, I think. Don't expect too many more happy chapters in the future. For any other notes, references, or anything else that I don't feel like repeating, see the first chapter. No rating change.

A quick note on characterization: Everyone might seem a little out-of-character at the moment (except maybe Squall), but that is because I have not yet gotten around to explaining how everyone has changed since their teenage years. Quite a bit of that is coming up in chapter 3, and I expect to drag all of the currently missing major characters in during chapter 4, so no, I haven't forgotten about them.

* * *

  
Wasted Time, Wasted Lives  
by Viviane Latour  
  


Chapter 2: Le Dîner Avec des Amis ("Dinner With Friends")

The three seated themselves at a smallish square table covered with a clean white linen table cloth in a comfortably sized dining room with blue floral wallpaper. Squall absently studied the single daisy in a clear glass vase, his expression surly as Quistis poked at it in a rather vain attempt to be distracting. Seifer jealously eyed the dancing couples across the room. 

"Squall, you look particularly displeased tonight. What is wrong?"

"I hid his camera so he wouldn't stand in a corner with it all night," Seifer responded with a smirk.

"Poor Squall! So I guess the receptionist found your room?"

"She did, and she even attempted to make conversation with our terse friend. Wouldn't be surprised if she came by tonight." Squall grimaced at the flower. "She was quite daring, actually trying to break him out of his shell. Cute, too."

"CUTE?" By now, Squall had begun to focus on the tablecloth, mentally counting the minute pulls in the fabric.

"For Squall, Quisty! Not for me! I actually do value my sad little life, you know." Infuriated, Squall had changed to counting the individual threads in the tablecloth.

"Good. Now, come dance with me."

"Dance? Quistis, you know I can't---"

"Have you tried? No. Come." She grabbed him by the wrist and forcefully dragged him to the other side of the room in spite of his semi-lame left leg. Squall looked up from the table, momentarily relieved. Relieved because the table was now empty, and momentarily because he soon realized that it was not.

"Hello again! I hope you don't mind my sharing your table?" The brunette receptionist had made her promised visit.

Squall glared at her in hopes that she would take the hint to leave without his having to speak. She did not take the hint -- rather, she blatantly ignored it. "Apparently you don't mind at all."

"May I take that as a no, Mister... what is your name?" Squall remained silent. "Are you going to tell me your name or should I call you Mister Photographer for the rest of your stay?"

"Okay, Miss Boston. Or should I call you Miss Receptionist?"

"I'm normally more of a bookkeeper than a receptionist, I was just filling in for the day. And... how did you know where I am from?"

"Your accent is painfully obvious."

She brushed off the insult and continued. "Since you are not going to introduce yourself without some coercion of some sort, I'll go first. I'm Rinoa Heartilly. And you are?" She put her hand out to shake his, and when he looked at her as if she had just asked him to do cartwheels blindfolded, she took it upon herself to grab his hand and shake it, with or without his consent.

He dropped his cold demeanor in shock. "S-Squall Lo-Leonhart. Squall Leonhart." He said his name the second time seemingly almost to reassure himself that he had, in fact, said his real name.

"Pleased to meet you then, Squall." She stood up and touched the tip of her index finger to his forehead, gently smiling in amusement at his continued surprise. "You should lighten up a little. I'm sure there's a perfect gentleman hiding in there somewhere. Besides, it would be a shame to waste your good looks on someone who wasn't." She walked away, leaving a bewildered Squall in her wake.

"Did we miss something, or are you looking confused for fun?" Seifer, grinning madly, was standing hand-in-hand with Quistis, who was also enjoying her fair share of mirth.

"Wonderful time you two chose to return. Was it a coincidence?" Apparently the conversation had at best a temporary effect on Squall, looking at the couple standing at the table with his eyes narrowed in renewed frustration as his typical detached cynicism returned.

"Not at all!" they exclaimed in unison as they sat down.

"Do you have any idea how many people stared at us as we 'danced' without moving our feet?"

"I don't know about you, but I enjoyed the attention!"

"You would enjoy the attention if someone threw rotten cabbage at you."

"Didn't that happen in high school?"

"No, I did that on your seventh birthday." They laughed, enjoying each other's company and behaving as they did years earlier, before the war, before guns and bombs ushered them into adulthood and their shattered new lives. Even Squall could not suppress a smile at the ancient memory.

"When's dinner, by the way? All that 'dancing' made me rather hungry," Seifer chuckled again.

Squall indicated the waiters buzzing around the room, plates in hand, with a nod of his head.

"Now."

* * *

And now, thank the reviewer time!

Quycksylver -- Yes, this was reposted. Somehow Fanfiction.net convinced itself that this story would always be one chapter long, so I just deleted it and started over. I'm really glad you've enjoyed it so far, and thanks for the feedback!

crystaleyes -- Thanks for the offer! I don't know anyone that knows much of any French, so your offer is a big help if I ever run into any trouble spots.

Elysia Erianthe -- Hi Sis! Thank you for being such a good little beta reader when I pester you with emails in the middle of doing your homework!

Quasi-Kwisatz Haderach -- I'm not going to ask where you came up with the name, knowing you it's either a Monty Python or a Dune reference... Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying the story and that Elysia managed to coerce you into reading it. Or did she have to bribe you? :)

If anyone else is reading this at all, please, leave me some feedback! This is my first real multi-chapter story on FF.net, and I can't improve if I don't know what I'm doing wrong!

-- Viviane


End file.
